Somebody That I Used To Know
by EmmaJ1996
Summary: When Harry leaves Nikki, will she ever be the same again? And with Nikki struggling to hold it together, how will Harry's absence affect Leo and the entire pathology department?
1. Chapter 1: Walk Out The Door

**Somebody That I Used To Know**

**Chapter 1: Walk Out the Door**

**In the midst of the awful news about a certain Doctor Cunningham, my mind has gone into overdrive. Just needed to address the news with some angst. So this is for those who have heard the news (which is just about everyone if you're on twitter). This won't be very long, as I have other stories that need to be written. Oh, and the next chapter of Catch22 is coming along. Just slowly. It's a big angsty mess, that one. Mind you, this isn't much better. **

**Disclaimer: BBC owns the (totally heartbreaking) plotline. And everything and everyone else you recognise. The rest is me, totally broken-hearted.**

* * *

"I've already said yes."

As soon as the words left his mouth, you felt your heart drop. Physically drop to the very deepest pit of your stomach, swirling around, drowning in acid, disintegrating.

Eight years. Eight years, and that's all he thought you were worth. Four words. No apology for breaking your heart, no apology for making you fall in love with him, no apology for even applying for the damn job in the first place.

And you could accept that without question. Because you'd been in love with him for God knows how long. You snuggled into bed, lying on top of him, no words necessary between you at this moment in time. You'd have that talk in the morning. The difficult goodbye. It's a moment you'd been dreading. Having to say goodbye. The emotion, tears, yelling. You'd lost so many people already, and he was your rock through a lot of that.

You never even stopped for one moment to contemplate that the next person you'd be saying goodbye to was him. It never even crossed your mind. Not once. His presence was unconditional. Unwavering. One of the only constants in your life.

As his fingers drew uneven circles on your back, his lips pressed against your hair, his heartbeat slow and (yet again) constant against your ear, it was easy to forget that he was leaving. As a visual, it was like any other night, when, exhausted from activity you'd engaged in earlier, you stayed in each other's arms until you drifted off.

But that night, there was a tension that made itself known. That night, you knew all too well, was different. It was to be the last night you'd spend together. But in that moment, you tried to block it out, ignore the inevitable. Focus on the constants.

You knew everything was changing. You should have seen it coming, really. The constants were changing. For one, you and Harry ended up in a relationship. Two, your bed was kept warm at night by Harry's arms enclosing you, protecting you from any fear that may have ever crept into your brain. Three, he loved you back. He said so, on many occasions. That was the largest shift in the constants.

For a long time, it was easy to pretend that you didn't really love Harry, because there was no indication of anything remotely more than friendship between you. Even that kiss, all that time ago, was just to silence you. Nothing more, nothing less. But one day, after a difficult case, and a badly-timed break up, it became so much more, that every day after that you mentally pinched yourself to make sure you weren't living the cruellest dream.

Until that day, you had ignored the change in the constants. Brushed them off as inevitability. Fate's way of apologising for all the torment it had put you through all those years previously. Until that day, you thought he'd never leave you.

The last thing you remembered was feeling warm. You remember that feeling of warmth, even now, because it's so distinctly different from the cold you feel now. The cold you felt that next morning. Waking up, feeling cold. Positively hypothermic. His arms weren't wrapped around you. They weren't there to keep you safe from the possible nightmare that he had gone.

You called his name, the solitary word echoing around your flat. The echo only emphasised how alone you felt. You felt like that echo, bouncing from wall to wall, unable to settle, unsatisfied until it eventually petered out.

Looking around your flat, cross-examining every room like it was a crime scene, searching for even the slightest fibre to suggest that Harry had ever been there. It was like segments of time had been erased. Pictures of you and Harry that once hung on a wall had vanished, leaving ghostly shadows of where the frames used to be.

Even in the fridge, his skimmed milk had gone, the red-topped carton replaced with your green one. The absence of his mug in the cupboard, or even his jacket on the back of the dining room chair, seemingly unable to move three metres left to the coatstand.

It didn't feel like home anymore. It was a house. An empty shell. The inanimate objects mirrored your feelings. You were the empty shell too. The middle, the yolk, the medium used up, whilst the shell lay broken, fragmented, discarded.

Unnecessary.

You yearned for that goodbye you had been dreading. Anything was better than this. He was better than this.

Not even a bloody goodbye. Like one more word would make all the difference, anyway. He just walked out of the door. Didn't look back.

No note. No phonecall. Nothing. You'd think the absence of that appallingly difficult goodbye would be better. You wouldn't have that memory of seeing him walk out of the door one last time. But it wasn't. Because instead of cherishing that last memory of him, you despise it.

Because you don't have a last memory of him. He stole that goodbye from you. Left you while you were sleeping. You didn't even realise he had gone.

But you felt it in every fibre of your being. The pain, threatening to suffocate you. You didn't even notice as the minutes become hours, as you sat on your kitchen floor, copious tears falling down your cheeks.

You didn't even notice that Leo let himself in. You didn't even hear the doorbell. The tears that fell down your cheeks that day were the worst kind. Soft and sporadic, uncontrollable as you gasped for air. When Leo pulled you against him, you broke. Mentally, physically, emotionally - clutching at his arm, his shirt, anything for the slightest segment of human contact. To erase the feeling of Harry against you.

As Leo whispered meaningless words of comfort, rubbing your back and trying in vain to get you to calm down, you both had an unspoken epiphany. It would never be the same again.

"He's left me, Leo. He's left me," you sobbed, your cries muffled as he pulled you even tighter against him, trying to replicate the safe feeling of Harry's presence. And for a while, it helped. But underneath the pain, Leo couldn't understand how you felt. Not even close.

Your lip quivering, you eventually began to take slower, steadier, more measured breaths. You were on the verge of having a panic attack if you didn't. Your breaths tried to become deeper, filling your lungs with the oxygen necessary to keep you living. For a fractional moment, you wondered what it would be like to stop breathing, because that's how you felt in that moment. Your world had stopped.

What was the point in finding out the reason for death, if you couldn't even find a reason to live in the first place?

* * *

**Told you it was angsty. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed Sun is in the Sky and Those Who Wait: Lizzi, Clufie, Cariad1987, Flossie, whitenessie, dinabar, delectabledaisy, greyslostwho, Poppy and Izzy.**

**And for those who aren't on twitter, please note. This is official. Any stories about the new characters are hereby banned :) Unless you're planning on killing them. Otherwise it's just very painful...**

**As always, read, review and mourn the loss of the wittiest, funniest, sexiest, cleverest, occasionally most oblivious, pathologist in the world :'(**

**Ems xx**


	2. Chapter 2: Teach Your Heart To Feel

**Somebody That I Used To Know**

**Chapter 2: Teach Your Heart To Feel**

You glance in the mirror briefly, nervously adjusting the smallest of things that really don't need adjusting again. You breathe deeply, trying to avoid the feeling that the oxygen that gives you life is also suffocating you.

Leo's face suddenly appears next to you in the mirror, taking the necklace from its box on the dresser in front of you, and leaning around to place it around your neck, fastening the clasp as you sigh softly.

"It was his mother's, wasn't it?" he asks you quietly, kissing you lightly on the cheek. You're still left mesmerised by the simplicity of the necklace, and yet the infinite beauty that it represents. He has told you numerous times about his mother, about how she died when he was still a teenager. The story of how things weren't the same with his father rang so true with you, it gave you goosebumps every time he told you a bit more of the story.

"Yeah," you whisper softly, not trusting yourself to say anything else, for fear of the tears that could potentially ruin your make-up.

"Don't cry," he warns you, as if reading your mind, making you giggle as you stand up to give him a hug, a silent gesture of thanks for everything over the past two years.

"Are you sure about this? You don't have to go through with this, you know," he says, his eyes burning into you concernedly as he pulls you out of the hug, but still keeping you safe in his arms.

"Leo, we've talked about this," you smile gently, trying to reassure him, "I'm fine," you add, your smile broadening, although it can't quite reach your eyes yet.

"I never implied that you weren't. But, Nikki, look," he says, placing his arms on your shoulders firmly and spinning you around so that you can see yourself in the mirror again, "This is your wedding day. Not the housewarming party, or the engagement party, or even the rehearsal dinner. Your wedding day, Nikki," he implores, as if wanting you to see sense; a sense that was apparently lacking from today.

"Leo, just stop, okay? I'm not stupid. I'm well aware what today is. And contrary to popular belief, I'm actually happy. So stop trying to ruin this for me. Today, I'm getting married, and none of you can try and say otherwise. Not you, not Janet, not...Harry?"

You gasp at the third face in the mirror, staring back at you, his figure leaning against the door frame, his arms folded. Turning on your heel, you don't anticipate the feeling of seeing him. The oxygen that was suffocating you earlier has now taken a punch at your stomach, leaving you reeling and struggling to catch your breath.

You try and think of something to say. It doesn't even have to be coherent right now, and it certainly won't be after seeing him standing there. There are so many questions rushing through your mind, like cars surging through a busy road. But suddenly, like every traffic jam, your mind comes to a standstill, freezing completely, gridlocked.

"Hello, Nikki," Harry says, the familiarity of his voice making you shiver slightly.

If you thought that your world fell apart two years ago, you were wrong. Because right here, in this moment, he takes a sledge hammer and shatters every wall and façade that you have created over the past two years.

* * *

As you walk into work, you notice the significance of the office layout. The desks cleared of any and all sentiment, ready for new inhabitants, more temporary members of staff to fill the void left by Harry six months ago. You never get used to the feeling of seeing the empty desks as each locum leaves, and a new one takes their place. Because with each new locum, you remember the pain and anguish caused by the absence of Harry.

As you open your office door, you see the familiarity flood back to you, as the room is filled with every sentiment possible. Six months ago, you struggled to actually sit at your desk for more than five minutes, pacing around the room, unable to concentrate whilst being reminded of Harry at the desk opposite you. So Leo kindly suggested that you shared his office, a new experience for both of you, not necessarily better, but enough to cover up the loneliness of missing Harry.

It was a loss that you shared. Harry. A loss that you both understood. As you had loved Harry, with every fibre of your being, Leo had once loved Janet. And although he may not have understood the pain of having someone cruelly ripped from you, he knew all too well the vacancy left by the absence of that person, yearning for their return to your daily routine.

"New locum?" you ask casually, trying to sound at least vaguely interested in the new member of staff, but you've played out this rehearsed routine so many times that you barely care anymore. He'll tell you a bit about their family (because, of course, most people actually do have one, you remember), and you reply with some scornful joke about how awful it must be for them. The joke wasn't morbidly funny the first time you told it, but now it's just a pitiful reminder of your situation.

"Julie, husband, two kids," he replies, playing along as usual, although the once playful tone of this routine has long gone.

"Bully for her," you retort, making a face that you really hope Leo doesn't see. The last thing you need right now (and you've told him several times) is the pitying look of concern. It implies that your problems are noticeable, not hovering beneath the surface as you would like to believe. The concern is not an emotion, it is a question of your sanity, an insult to your mental intelligence.

"How long is she staying for?" you inquire, realising that this is the one thing he hasn't told you yet, which is odd, as part of the routine is that he always tells you the length of their placement, as if to emphasise their status as a temporary member of staff, to emphasise the short length of time before they leave again.

"She's not a locum," Leo sighs, busying himself with a stack of papers, which you know he only sorted through yesterday. Although it was a bank holiday, you had been called to a scene, and he had wanted to get his filing done in the hope of actually finding the surface of his desk again, under the mountain of papers that had become a somewhat permanent feature, almost a reminder of the disarray caused by Harry's sudden departure. Six months later, and you're still thinking about him, his name infiltrating every scenario: paperwork, Leo's birthday, even something as simple as getting a takeaway.

"What do you mean?" you ask, puzzled slightly, as this is clearly an improvised conversation, something you haven't encountered in a long time between you and Leo. Your relationship has become gradually staged, the same questions answered by the same replies. And although this is a welcome change, you can't help feeling the urge for things to return to the false, disinterested conversations where you felt safe in knowing emotions were irrelevant.

"She's permanent, Nikki," he sighs, his voice quiet as if through guilt, his eyes not bearing to look at you to gauge your reaction, his head hanging low and absorbed in case reports.

"What?" you whisper, your eyes immediately flooding with tears, more upset at Leo's betrayal than at the prospect of a permanent member of staff, an official replacement.

"I can't keep hiring locums, Nikki. We'll be out of a job if I do. It's just not feasible anymore," he's almost pleading with you, begging you to accept his half-hearted explanation, although he knows as well as you do, nothing can fix this. The damage has already been done, inflicted beyond repair.

You give him the coldest look you can muster, before rushing out the room, tears flowing freely down your face. He lets you go, as he always does, never following you to give you some space. He knows that his presence won't help, as the only presence that you really need is 3465 miles away.

You go to the highest point of the building, the car park, playing out yet another routine of yours, a ritual. Letting the wind hit you hard enough that you have no choice but to breathe, the oxygen desperately trying to fill you with life. But although, yes, medically speaking, you are alive, lungs enabling you to breathe, a fully functioning heart, and a brain with enough scientific knowledge to have earnt you your title as Professor Alexander, you haven't felt alive for six months. And you didn't know how to get that feeling back without him.

The wind is unforgiving, harshly blowing away your tears, making your eyes feel dry and raw, forcing any outward sign of hurt away. But it can't remove the suffocating feeling that his absence has left you with, as the endless days became weeks, and the weeks became never-ceasing months, time moving on whilst you had pressed the largest pause on your life, unable to simply get on with your life.

Despite the liberating feeling of being on the roof, it feels like the shallow end of a swimming pool, not enough depth to be able to accomplish anything. And although the roof reminds you of absence and emptiness, you immediately notice the presence of someone behind you.

As Leo comes to stand beside you, he unwittingly breaks every boundary of the wall you have built to hide your emotions. Re-inventing a relationship that hasn't been real for the past six months. A different kind of relationship, but still, a relationship that you had forgotten how to be in. A relationship that you hadn't even cared to notice that you were sabotaging every day.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, glancing over at you, the emotion in his voice strong enough not to be completely engulfed by the wind.

"I know," you reply, smiling gently at him, a smile that has been long overdue, the first smile you've actually produced through want rather than obligation. It carries the same meaning as assuring someone you're okay. When they ask you the question, they don't really want to know the answer. It's formality, not interest.

"Stop doing that. I hate that," you say, a little louder this time, as the brutality of the wind tries its best to swallow up your words, swallow the monumentous effort that you are putting into meaning each and every word that falls from your lips.

"What?" he asks, incredulous, not realising that he had been doing anything.

"That look. The concerned, condescending, let's put the girl back on the SSRIs look," you look at him quizzically, as if daring him to disagree with you.

"Concerned, not condescending. Nikki, it's been six months. You can't sit in a room because it reminds you of him. You can't face having a permanent member of staff because it reminds you of him. We don't even speak about him because it reminds you of him. You need to move on," he sighs, watching your face crumple at his words, as you wrap your arms around yourself, not only for extra warmth, but as a sign you don't want to talk anymore. You're closing off your emotions, shutting him out.

"Tell me how and I'll do it. Because I sure as hell don't know, Leo," you mutter, choking back the soft sobs that are consuming your every word. As he puts his arm around you, you're reminded of the day Harry left, his actions mirroring when he found you on the kitchen floor, barely able to focus enough to keep yourself breathing, functioning just enough to stay alive. His attempt to comfort you was just as futile then as it now. The silence between you says so much more than words could say. The strength of the silence is almost deafening.

When you turn in his arms to look at him, you can't help but notice how close his face is to yours. You just need something, anything, to be void of all that emptiness, that hollow feeling of being just an empty shell, of being a burden to everyone else. You need to feel alive, and right now, you can't think of any other way. Right now, you simply can't think.

"Nikki..." he sighs, pulling away from you, as you lean in to kiss him, "Come on."

"Please," you're practically begging him, "I just need...to forget, Leo. I can't keep doing this. I'm tired, Leo," you cry, fighting against the hold he has on your wrists.

"You can't forget, Nikki. It's not possible. You just need to learn how to cope. To live with his absence, and move on. Because he's on a different continent, Nikki. And he's not coming back. We haven't heard from him at all. So, if it's closure you're looking for, well, you'll be looking a long time. But if it's freedom you want, then you just need to let go," he smiles, his voice sounding weary as he tries to convince you, his hands cupping your face as if you're a small child.

It's then that you realise just how exhausted he is. Because whilst you've been falling apart, he's been trying to hold it together for the both of you. And that hasn't been fair on him at all. You've been selfish, so wrapped up in your own pain, that you've completely forgotten what this is doing to Leo right now. Just as you are like a daughter to Leo, Harry was once like a son. And whilst you're still here, reminded every day of Harry, Leo is too. And that reminder of loss isn't just about Janet, it extends to Theresa, to Cassie, to Lizzie Fraser, to everyone that Leo has deigned to care about.

So you need to move on, you need to at least try and make things better. Achieve some sense of normality, whatever that may be. Not just for your own sake, but for Leo's.

"Let go," you repeat, the words almost foreign to you despite them being quite simple English, "Just like that?" you ask, a hope in your voice that has been lost for several months.

"No," he shakes his head, "It will take time. But we'll get there. Together," he says, taking your hand, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a connection fusing between your joined hands, an infrangible bond, a constant. It's just a small fragment, nowhere compared to what you used to feel, but it's something. Even if it's only the smallest piece of you, you feel alive again.

"Together," you smile, murmuring the word as if it carries some magical entity, leaving you in awe at its radiance. And, as he pulls you against his chest into the safest hug imaginable, you feel the warmth you had once lost drifting back across your skin, as the toxicity of the oxygen resides, welcoming you back to life.

It's not perfect, it's not a fresh start, and it's certainly not closure, but it's close enough. Right now, it's all you can get. And that's enough to satisfy you.

Small though it may be, it's a breakthrough.

* * *

**Sorry this has taken so long (and for the possible typos). This fic, over everything, is the one I'm desperate to be perfect. So if it takes a bit longer, then that's a sacrifice I have to make. Sorry about all the angst - I did warn you :(**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter 1: tigersbride, scarletpoppy, Baibe, whitenessie, dinabar, KiwiSWFan, DarkArts27, BethTHEbuiscuit, Cariad1987, Audrey1119, greyslostwho, Lizziginne and HarryCunninghamIsSexy. Big hugs to you all, and apologies to the people I made cry...**

**As always, read and review - rants also welcome. I'm not fussy :)**

**Ems xx**

**PS/ Hands up who thinks Nikki will go through with the wedding? Just a show of hands, please :) **


	3. Chapter 3: Mirror Mirror

**Somebody That I Used To Know**

**Chapter 3: Mirror Mirror**

"Nikki?" you vaguely hear him repeat, although your world is starting to spin, and his voice could have been just a figment of your imagination. It wouldn't be the first time, hearing Harry's voice in your head. For months after he left, you thought you were going mad. And maybe on some level, you were.

Hearing imaginary keys turning in the lock after a tough day at work, hearing him singing in the shower when you woke up late, even hearing him snoring next to you when you couldn't sleep in the middle of the night.

But that's all it was. Imaginary. After he left, there was no aspect of him that was real. Not even so much as an email (well, not one addressed to you, anyway), or a phone call, or even just a cursory Christmas card. Nothing. He literally vanished from your life.

And now, he's standing in front of you. Well, behind you, really, because you've turned around to stare into the mirror again, so you have your back to him. You'd felt your eyes pricking with tears, a small involuntary reaction to seeing him again after all this time. But it was a small, involuntary action you weren't willing for him to see.

You consciously try to take deeper breaths, knowing you'll be halfway towards a panic attack otherwise. You rest both hands on the dresser in front of you, staring into the mirror at your own reflection, like some twisted fairytale, in which nobody is the fairest of them all, and where there is no happily ever after.

"Get out," you say hoarsely, turning around, focusing your eyes on the corsage on his jacket, too guilty to even look him in the eyes. You're guilty that it's him you're asking to leave. It shouldn't be him. After everything he's done for you since Harry left, he deserves more to be spoken to like this.

The look on his face says it all. The raised eyebrows, the folded arms, the cold glare. He doesn't say anything, both of you stuck in a meaningless impasse as you drag your eyes up to look at him ashamedly, much like a child would in front of their father.

"I…just – Leo," you sigh softly, close to tears, "I just need a minute. Please."

"I'll be right outside if you need me," Leo smiles sadly, as you banish him from the room, kissing you on the cheek. As he leaves, Harry smiles at Leo, moving out of the doorway to let him through.

"Don't you dare smile at me," Leo warns him dangerously, pointing an accusatory finger in his face, "She might be in the mood to talk, but I'm certainly not," he continues crossly, before slamming the door behind him.

* * *

"Leo, post," you smile, waving at him, with the whole stack of letters in your hand, and attempting to balance the tray of coffees in your other hand, relieved when Leo takes the coffees from you. You try to sift through the mail casually, checking for any familiar illegible scrawl written across the front of an envelope. However, it's the first time you've done it with Leo in the room. Normally, he's at a crime scene, or talking to Julie about her weekend, or making some decent coffee.

"Nothing from Harry?" he asks curiously, a minute attempt to humour your optimism. It's slightly unnerving just how well he knows you. You shake your head at him resignedly, before taking your mail out of the stack, returning some to Leo, and leaving the rest on Julie's desk.

As you sit back down at your desk, you glance at the calendar. Thursday. Then you glance at the clock on the wall. 8.07am. Giving you just under twelve hours to mentally compose yourself for your date with Matt. Because, of course, you have a date with Matt. Again.

If you were over Harry, a sixth date would sound like a lovely idea. But of course, you're not, so you can only sigh as you realise you can't exactly pull out of a sixth date at the last minute; it's just too awkward.

"He doesn't talk to me either," Leo offers over the top of a tox report, misinterpreting your sighs as being a Harry-related issue. You can't be bothered to explain yourself, and even if you did, Leo wouldn't believe you anyway, so you just smile at him tightly and shrug, before returning to your work.

You remain silent for the next couple of hours, working without interruption, something which has become so familiar over the past year. The silences gradually became less awkward, as it became more normal to not have anything to fill them with. There was only so long you could ask for a stapler, or a paperclip, or feign losing something just to have something to do.

You've resorted to small talk, with Leo of all people. With all your attempts to cope with Harry's sudden departure, you'd have thought it would have brought you closer to Leo, but instead, your relationship has become a shadow of what it once was. Calling him your friend doesn't do justice to the relationship you have now. It's unfair to label him as such, when you've become so distanced, you can't remember the last time you asked him how Janet was, or if you remembered his birthday, or even the last time you got a kebab with him on a Friday night.

He's just a colleague again. You've lost Harry, you've lost Leo, and you're losing yourself. You're subconsciously destroying the only relationship you have left. It's like it's five years ago, when you would break up with boyfriends for the smallest thing, allowing yourself to become distanced from them, so that it might bring you closer to Harry.

But now, there's no reason for it. You're losing Leo, and for what? Because you're too putting Harry first, when he only ever puts you second? You decide to make a conscious effort to get along with Leo again, a conscious effort to restore your friendship, a conscious effort to put more into, well, life in general.

"Are you busy tonight?" you ask casually, trying not to sound too interested, just in case he immediately rebuffs you, for allowing your friendship to deteriorate to such a point. You're fully aware it's all your fault you grew apart – you shut him out so many times, it's a surprise he kept trying for so long.

"No," he smiles at you, putting down his pen, and smiling at you broadly, "Fancy a drink?"

You smile back at him, the first genuine smile for days, maybe weeks, as you get up from your chair and walk over to his desk. As he stands up, he quickly envelopes you in a tight hug, your head tucked into the crook of his neck, and his lips grazing the top of your head tenderly.

"God, I've missed you," Leo whispers into your hair, before pulling you back so he can look at you, "I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Janet's cooking, but sometimes, I really just need a Turkish," he grins.

"Me too," you murmur into his jumper, pulling him close again, "I'm so sorry," you feel a tear trickle down your face, in regret for all the time you've lost.

"Nonsense," he chides, but your moment is interrupted by one of the lab technicians poking his head round the door, clearing his throat nervously.

"Professor Dalton, I've got DCI Jacobs on the line. Shall I put him through?"

"Oh God, not again. Billy, I'll come to the main phone – I don't want him knowing my direct line, that's all I bloody need," Leo groans, before trailing behind Billy in frustration, much to your amusement.

You settle down to your work easily after that, content that you're taking the first steps to getting your life back on track. Patching things up with Leo, going out on another date with the lovely Matt (which actually seems a bit more appealing now), and actually finishing a report whilst you're still half lucid.

You barely get started on your next case, when Leo's phone starts ringing. Sighing, you get up slowly, and lazily make your way over to his phone, flopping into his chair and spinning on it slightly, giggling at all the post-its that sprinkle his desk, before actually picking up the phone.

"Leo, did you get that paper I emailed you? I mean, I know there's a time difference and everything, but really-"

You slam the receiver back onto its base violently, your eyes filling with tears at the sound of his voice. It's as if, after taking two tiny steps forward, you've suddenly leapt back a hundred. And amidst the jumble of emotions swirling round your mind, you can only think of Leo's words ringing in your head:

"He doesn't talk to me either."

You sit up at his desk, reciting Harry's words (for, of course, you remember them by heart), as they slowly burn a hole in your mind. As you run through his sentence, you keep coming back to the word 'email', although the significance of this doesn't hit you until you glance at Leo's computer screen.

You see the little envelope sign on his email tab, indicative of unread mail. Your hand hovering over his mouse, you look around the empty room, for sign of a witness to your illicit actions, before clicking on his inbox. Sure enough, the most recent email is from Harry, and scrolling further down the page, you find that his emails seem to be a regular occurrence.

But the most unsettling part comes when you click on Leo's 'sent' box. Again, Harry's name appears all too familiar, too comfortable amongst the numerous emails from coroners and technicians and police officers. His name frequents Leo's email and his phone and looking in his drawer, there's even a Christmas card from him in his illegible scrawl, a card that Leo must have somehow intercepted without you knowing.

"Nikki, Jacobs was wanting to know if- What's the matter?" Leo cries, re-entering the room, immediately coming over to comfort you, upon seeing the distressed look gracing your features. Grasping your arm, you shrug him off fiercely, denying him any right to comfort you, as you march past him wordlessly.

"Harry called," you retort bitterly, turning on your heel to pierce him with your scowl.

"Nikki, I-"

"Forget it," you laugh, wiping tears from your eyes, "Just forget it, Leo," you reply sadly, walking out of the room, slamming the door behind you, although you pause briefly in the office, just hidden enough to watch Leo without being seen yourself. No sooner have you left, when the phone rings, infiltrating the dramatic silence you had created just moments before.

"Harry…yeah…she knows…" you hear fragments of Leo's conversation as they drift under the door of your office. You underestimate how abruptly their chat will come to an end, as, the next thing you know, you're face to face with Leo in the corridor, as he materialises from his office.

"How could you?" you whisper, your voice barely audible, carrying enough emotion to break even the toughest of people. You'd convinced yourself you weren't going to say anything, but letting him off without so much as a question seems too easy.

Your instinct is to ask why. As if life is playing some cruel joke on you, it's the same three words you said to Harry before he left, in fact, the _last_ three words you said to him, before he kissed you gently on the head, and walked out the door, like he was only popping out to the shops.

Except the suitcase and the holdall spoke volumes of a different kind.

"Nikki, I'm so sorry," Leo sighs, running a hand through his short hair, "I didn't know how to tell you."

"So you decided to lie to me? A year, Leo, a whole bloody year! You don't get to make that decision for me – I had a right to know – I would have wanted – to know – I – "

"I know," he attempts to soothe you, close enough to you now to give you a hug, to trace random shapes on your back, an unspoken rule when trying to calm someone down. He silences your disjointed, senseless sentences as they turn to tears once more, big choking tears that rob you of all energy and ability to breathe.

"He hates it there," Leo says after a pause, walking back to your office, with you following behind him, intrigued, as you dab your eyes with the cuff of your sleeve. You laugh at how crazy it sounds; not quite believing him, although the smallest, most impractical part of you hopes it's true.

"Yeah?" you smile, actually feeling relaxed at the mention of Harry, instead of the usual aching and torment that surrounds it, "How can you tell?"

"He's always talking about you, never stops," Leo smiles nostalgically, as if thinking back to old times, propping up his head on his arm.

"And you're still lying to me!" you tut, "Shame on you, Professor Dalton," you giggle, stealing his stack of post-its from his desk, much to his chagrin.

"I'm telling the truth," he replies seriously, "I won't lie to you again, you hear me? Not if I can help it."

"If he hates it there," you begin, ignoring Leo's last comment, "Why doesn't he come home?" you sigh, trying to think of logical reasons why Harry would rather be in America than here, if he hated it that much.

"Because he's too proud," Leo groans, putting his head in his hands, "Don't you remember how he was when he was still here? The number of times you two clashed because you couldn't admit the other was right? It's an intrinsic part of him, Nikki, his pride – he might not have you around to polish it off, but he's found another way to channel it," Leo concludes.

"He's not going to come back, is he?" you ask, a small epiphany accumulating inside you after all this time.

"It's been a year," you say, to no-one in particular, taking the calendar off the wall to stare at all the numbers on it, "And I still love a ghost. No, I need to move on," you say firmly, replacing the calendar on the wall, "Can I take a long lunch?" you plead with Leo, smiling at him and trying to feign innocence.

"And why would that be?" he inquires, suspicious of your intentions.

"Matt asked me earlier if I wanted to grab something for lunch," you reply, nonchalant.

"You can grab here," Leo chides, and you can hear the most subtle hint of concern in his voice when he continues, "And besides, aren't you seeing him for lunch later?"

"Carpe diem?" you shrug your shoulders at him, and hope it's good enough. You don't miss the look on his face at your sudden change of heart, from being inconsolable about Harry, to excited at the prospect of dating someone else, and you're well aware that he's not buying it for one second.

But on the other hand, you're trying. Trying to remember how to live. And if it takes throwing yourself back into life to get there, then so be it. For a long time, your coping mechanism for anything and everything was Harry, and now he's gone.

So, maybe, if logic serves you right, a new coping mechanism will mean one more memory of Harry you can erase from your life. Because for all this time, you've thought you've needed to remember Harry and all his negative qualities to get over him. Edit the memories and re-save them. But in reality, maybe all this time, all you've needed to press delete.

Master delete.

And erase every memory of Harry until he's completely gone.

* * *

***Hangs head in shame*. Oh God, it hasn't been three months since I updated this, right? Say it ain't so. I apologise so very much to all you wonderful people who stick with this story (as well as Catch22). I really don't deserve you. **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter 2: KiwiSWFan, Baibe, Clufie, Izzy, greyslostwho, Cariad1987, tigersbride and Lizziginne!**

**And please, keep reviewing this and Catch22 – I've written half of each next chapter, so I'm getting there! (Slowly.)**

**Love Em x**


	4. Chapter 4: Behind My Eyes

**Somebody That I Used To Know**

**Chapter 4: Behind My Eyes**

"Nikki, I-"

"Now you get out," you bark at him, trying to remain emotionless, although the acid is dripping from your tongue, as you walk up to him and push at his chest indignantly.

"Nikki, listen-"

"No, you listen. This is my wedding day, Harry. My wedding day. It shouldn't be Leo that gets sent out of here, it should be you. Two bloody years," you cry, incredulous, not sure what to do with your hands, for fear of messing up your hair, or your make-up, or your dress, or any other thing that has to be perfect.

"Nikki-"

"Do you know why I kicked Leo out? Because he really deserves better than this. He doesn't deserve to see me have another breakdown. He doesn't deserve to hear this. He doesn't deserve to be the one who keeps picking me up, every time," you run out of breath, struggling to get your sentences out, his presence still too surreal for you to comprehend, "Every time-"

"You look amazing," he interrupts, his eyes locking onto yours, daring you to look away, and for a split second, you feel so weak that you're almost inclined to pull him into the hugest hug, to forgive him, and never let him go again. But then you remember the rage, the bitterness, the vitriol, all the adverse emotions that threatened to consume you, to pull you under and engulf you in their jaws.

The rage, bitterness and vitriol that was caused by Harry. By his decision to leave you. And then you realise it's impossible to forgive him right now – not when that rage and bitterness and vitriol is stabbing into you like a knife, laughing at you, reminding you of what you felt while he was gone. And suddenly, the side of you that is willing to forgive is once again pushed under, coaxed into silence by the animosity you want to feel.

"Don't," you snarl, stabbing him in the chest with a solitary finger, a gesture of hostility and distance, not trusting yourself to say anything more, or make any further physical contact with him, "You don't get to say that," you spit at him, your words blunt, monosyllabic, "Not after everything."

"I'm sorry," he sighs, collapsing into the nearest chair, his head in his hands.

"You're sorry?" you repeat scornfully, almost mocking, as you turn to stare out of the window, "I made a pass at Leo," you say suddenly, turning back to look at him, before he stares at you blankly. You're not even sure why you're telling him, opening up to him. It's not as if he actually cares. But for some reason, a reason that for ten years, you haven't ever been able to fathom, you find a release in talking to Harry. A release that maybe, makes this a whole lot easier, whether he's been gone for two hours or two years. Because now and then, there are some things that time just can't erase.

"After you left, I was in a bad place, I-"

You're silenced by Harry's sudden presence in front of you, his thumb gently massaging your hip, as his eyes burn into your skin. You need him to not be there, not in this room, not in this country, not on this continent. And in the same way, for the same reasons, you need him to be on this continent, in this country, in this room. You need his physical presence for the same reason you always have.

"You need to leave," you spring away from him abruptly, as if nauseated at his touch. You have to, for your own sanity. If you show him even the slightest hint of redemption, the slightest suggestion of forgiveness, he'll act on it. He'll break down your barriers until you're bare before him, he'll worm his way back into your heart. You're not sure if he ever left, really. It's more likely that you've just buried your feelings under a pile of other unwanted emotions, lying beneath the 'spurned daughter' and the 'teenage cynic' and the 'wither on the vine' analogies.

And maybe that's where they need to stay.

* * *

"Leo, are you busy tonight?" you smile, passing him his coffee, noticing that he already has the mail on his desk, with one envelope stray from the stack. The envelope, you surmise, is empty, mainly because his reading glasses are on, and the letter is in his hand. He mumbles a sound of assent at you leaving the coffee on his desk, but is startled when you take the envelope off his desk nosily; curious to see who the letter is from.

Turning over the envelope, you see Harry's customary scrawl, and you can barely make out the address, vaguely recognising the word 'Road' and the word 'London' if you squint hard enough. Leo stops reading the letter, biting the skin on his nail nervously to gauge your reaction. But for the first time, you're not repulsed by his postal presence, or by the fact he still doesn't speak to you, but feel relieved to know he's okay.

"How is he?" you glance briefly at Leo, the look on his face almost comical, as if he is expecting some kind of disheartened, disconsolate response, but as you sit down at your desk, you notice the look has been replaced with a more content one.

"Good," he replies curtly, as if unsure how much more he can say before he upsets you.

"Good," you echo, before returning to your work, and it's a relief that you can finally be content to leave it at that. It's a relief that you can finally get on with Leo again, without feeling angry, or hurt, or betrayed that he still talks to Harry.

Knowing you have Matt there for you at the end of every day, it makes things just that little bit better. And you've found comfort in the little things again: curling up on a sofa watching old movies, fighting over what music to listen to in the car, the domesticity of going to the supermarket together.

Before Harry left, you consciously destroyed any prospect of a relationship with anyone else, no matter how nice the guy, no matter how charming, or nice, or funny, or attractive, for no reason other than the fact Harry was there. For no reason other than Harry's presence, you allowed yourself to remain single, in the hope that one day, you and Harry would come to your senses, words that had been foregrounded in your mind, every day since Hungary.

And of course, you and Harry did eventually come to your senses. And for a while, he was everything you wanted. But when he left, or more specifically, when he left _you_, it got you thinking. Was Harry really everything you wanted? Because now, you can safely say, there are days where you manage, not thinking about Harry at all. The days where you and Matt call in sick, and have a picnic at Kew Gardens, or book a table somewhere ridiculously overpriced, or even just curl up at the cinema for a couple of hours.

But you also remember the bad days. You remember the days when you and Matt aren't spending Christmas at his parents, or aren't going to his office party, or aren't ordering in a takeaway on a Saturday night. You remember the feeling of emptiness in your flat, an emptiness that, although you don't feel often, it's still all too familiar. It's an emptiness that in some weird way, brings you closer to Harry.

You're not saying you didn't have that emptiness whilst you were with Harry, because let's face it, you did. Nights where you'd get into a fight over something or nothing, and you'd spend the night at your separate flats. With Harry, you'd always regret those fights, but you never had doubt.

And although you've never regretted your time with Matt, there's an unwavering doubt that, however small it may be, doesn't always dissipate straightaway when you think about Harry.

But between your regrets about Harry and your doubts about Matt, you've found something good. You've remembered time. For a long time after Harry left, a Friday could merge into a Monday, and you wouldn't even notice you'd wasted your weekend. Autumn could combine with winter, and you'd be cold for months on end without realising. Day could merge into night, and vice versa, before you'd understand that you needed sleep.

Now, you can count the months that Harry's gone (it's been eighteen), and you can count the months that you've been with Matt (it's been nine), and you can count the days of the week and not get them confused, and you can count the number of days until it's winter, and you can count the number of days until the clocks go forward, and you can count the number of seconds until New Year's Day at a party with everyone else, and then kiss Matt chastely on the lips, just once, and accept all of those numbers. You might not like some of those numbers, or even agree with them, but slowly you've learnt to accept them.

And through your acceptance, your resignation to reality, you've seen a change in Leo too. However slight, you've gradually seen that gleam in his eye return, achieving some sort of normality again. And yeah, maybe some of that is down to Janet. You're not really sure what they are at the moment. It's somewhere between "best friend" and "I love you", but beyond that, it's all a blur.

Falling out when one gets jealous of the other's date for the evening, but that same jealousy bringing them back together a week later. Owning keys to the other's flat, but never actually using them. Staying the night but never really _staying the night_.

They've become the new you and Harry.

But that glint in his eye, it's not all down to Janet. If we're talking about credit here, some of it is going to you. Because you helped a little bit too. By restoring yourself to normality (whatever that word actually means), it's enabled him to restore his normality too. Press the imaginary reset button and undo all the hurt and pain and suffering and all-consuming guilt and anger and resentment and every other destructive emotion imaginable.

If such a button existed, you and Leo would be the first to press it. But there isn't. So you can't.

So, you come full circle and land back at the grown up answer. Acceptance.

Now, of course, there are two types of acceptance.

The first one basically may as well be renamed as the "shut-up-and-get-on-with-it" clause. Because that's all it really is. You're not understanding better, not agreeing better, you're simply resigning yourself to the situation quicker. It's instantaneous. Saying you're okay before you really are. Because nobody really cares if you aren't. It's just standard social protocol. Along with smiling at bad jokes and always saying yes to a refill, you obey these unwritten rules to avoid looking rude.

But the second one, the harder one, is true acceptance. The one that isn't a band-aid, isn't a quick fix. It's the one you really have to mean. The one that takes several months, includes you being as selfish as humanely possible, because otherwise, you just can't quite get there. It has to be your own work, otherwise you're just not doing it right. If you ask for help, then you don't want it hard enough. And one day, you don't even realise it, but you're there.

You're not entirely sure which type of acceptance you're working towards. Knowing you, it's probably somewhere in-between. Because on one hand, you and Leo have already done the whole charade of nodding and smiling and saying you're okay when you're not. Many times. But on the other hand, you've also done the many months of hard graft. The attempt at genuine smiles and the buying of coffee and the days out together, something so familiar and foreign all at the same time.

It's like you've taken a regroup on your relationship, like you've taken the long way round and still got back to that infamous reset button.

But it's genuine enough for you to know that it's better than it was. You don't have to worry about him finishing his sudoku anymore, because he's finally figured out how to do it himself. He doesn't have to worry that the mention of Harry's name will send you over the edge. You don't have to worry about him working too late. He doesn't have to worry about your eating habits. (Or lack of, rather).

Because you have Matt to keep you sane. And on some level, Leo has Janet.

And as for Harry? He's getting on with his life. Just like you.

And that is a pattern that isn't going to change anytime soon.

And for the first time in god knows how long, you can actually say that and nod and smile and say you're okay and know you're halfway to meaning it.

And it's actually enough.

* * *

***Gasps dramatically* One and a half months? Seriously? Jeesh. I said I'd get better at updating, didn't I? It should have been my New Year's Resolution. Oh well. **

**Thanks to dinabar, pinkswallowsun and plume-en-sucre for reviewing C3 ****Hugs to you all…**

**And please, to everyone else, keep reviewing! It makes me write faster! Honestly, it does. **

**Ems x **


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